twin river spirit of khajiit and charybdis

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Tigris slips from beside him, branching in an arc towards the mountainous sleeping creature. Euphrates follows in his own way: he rounds the opposite edge, small hooves picking around the stallion's larger ones, and rejoins her at the head, their streams converging once more. Her voice echoes in his memory, his young mind poring over the newly-woven tapestry she'd spun only moments ago, and as the scents of wet earth and fetid greenery fill his flaring nostrils, he finds himself in awe. So often he has wondered about his father, trying and failing to piece together a picture from the scattered clippings his mother deigned to give, and here he is, close enough to hear, to smell. To touch.

Never before has a vision from his dreams become real, not like this, and now that the subject of his desire has been served to him on a silver platter, Euphrates isn't quite sure what to do next.

Not for long. Tigris draws his brown eyes up, meeting hers instantly, and leads them back down to the coal-flecked stranger. Her lips run across his crest; the colt watches, curious, and when the supple flesh twitches at the stimuli he lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. His sister makes him bold, sowing ideas like little seeds in the fertile soil of his subconscious; he steps closer, looking down his nose, appraising.

"He must, sister dear," Euphrates answers after a moment. The ghost of something turns his lips in a smile, only for a second, but he knows Tigris sees it. It is meant for her. Everything is.

"If he is but flesh," he says, bending his neck down low, "and blood," and clamps his teeth over one of the stallion's jet-black ears, roughly yanking the soft-curved edge.

Khajiit lurches up with a squeal, lime-hued jaws snapping blindly out. Euphrates scrabbles forward, pushing and jostling his twin out of harm's way. Instead of champing in submission, his gaze rims white, and he charges, the rapids of his temper surging up as he nips at Khajiit’s pale pink nose. Both pull back after: Euphrates puffed up like a jungle cat, Khajiit simply attempting to process his first few bits of consciousness. He yawns, lip twitching where little teeth had pinched it, and squints at the foals agog with his every move.

"Yer' awfully young to be walkin' around out here alone, kids." His voice comes dry, chased with an expression equal parts grin and grimace, his stomach in knots. The stallion runs his tongue over the inside of his own mouth, spitting out the bitter plant dregs he finds lingering in the crevices, and rubs his mouth clean on one pale leg, leaving a bright green streak.

Euphrates glances sidelong at his twin, his face loaded with unspoken mirth. This man - their father - had clearly missed the obvious. Alone? They aren't. They never have been, not since their dam's egg had split in two in the womb, and never for more than a few minutes at a time.

Thunder drums high above the trees, the rest of the world eerily still.

"'Lotta danger lurkin' around every corner," Khajiit adds, pulling back their attention. He might be exhausted, half-starved and dehydrated, barely conscious, even, but he knows vulnerability when he sees it. Bravado or not, they are still foals... and in the wrong hands, their fragile little lives could be snuffed out with ease, the springs run dry until naught but cracked, barren wasteland remained.

How lucky, then, for them to have found him. He would sooner keel over than harm a hair on either of their curly-eared heads.

No, he decides, locking quizzically onto those swirling little appendages. They are much more valuable to him alive, healthy and happy and bathed in honey-sweet fondness. If Khajiit goes slowly, tests the feel of the waters before diving in, perhaps he can alter their courses, setting them - and him - up for success. Gently, he vows, testing his stiff and achy joints. Carefully, so he might not slip and be washed away, one day, by currents he could no longer control.



~~~~~



euphrates

haunted by waters